Posterity
by His Excellency TeenageAngst
Summary: I've been toying around with this idea for a while; what would happen if Jack Radical ever settled down to raise a family? How would his kids turn out? How would they deal with his broad and... intimate legacy? This story is the result of that little muse. Think of it as sort of a sequel, but not really, to Jack's adventures. (Don't worry, there will be more Jack to come.)
1. Chapter 1

I held a bottle of moonshine and gazed out over the common room of the Scarlet Raven. Tired humans shuffled to and fro by the bar without so much as a glance towards the stranger sitting by their fire. I took a long drink, shifting under my cloak to stay warm. Normally I wouldn't mind spending time in a tavern, even a human one. They're fun, sometimes dangerous, and almost always full of opportunity, but not this one. Every human in this Light forsaken forest looked like they'd rather be anywhere else. And yet here they were, a bunch of stubborn fools clinging to their homes. I took another swig of the delicious moonshine that Darkshire was known for; a smooth yet powerful liquor. Letting the alcohol roll over my senses, I lay back in the wooden chair and waited. Maybe I'd need a room after all, I hadn't planned on staying long but mother was certainly taking her time getting here.

As I looked the sparse patrons over I caught the anxiety in the air, thick and musty like the cool fog that rolled in through the door. These people had more important things to worry about than an elven rogue lurking in the front of their tavern. It was nice to be able to relax in an Alliance town for once, mother had certainly chosen a discrete location. Still, I didn't understand all these games she was playing. Why couldn't I just visit her at home? As the evening turned to night and my bottle to empty, I began to suspect something was seriously wrong. Obviously nothing happened in Silvermoon or I would have heard about it. Maybe she was finally fed up with my lifestyle. I knew I wasn't her favorite and it wouldn't be her first attempt at an intervention. Heh, that was probably it. Oh well, if I have to endure another speech at least it'll be dark enough outside to slink away. I was half tempted to leave as it was. Duskwood was a terrible place to look for work and you don't want to linger after sunset.

Tipping the bottle upside down I finished the last of the moonshine. As I stood up to place the empty on the counter I found myself swaying. Grabbing the railing, I pulled myself to the bar. How strong was that stuff?! I could drink an ogre under the table on normal human swill, this was unbelievable. As I hobbled on a barstool and set the empty on the counter I took a deep breath. My mind was swimming and I could feel the warmth of the booze running down my spine. I looked over, about two seats down was a member of the town's Night Watch. He was a young buck with short black hair, dressed entirely in the black leather of the Watch with an iron sword at his hip. It looked like he just came off duty, and as he mulled over his dinner and drink I could tell it was a long shift. He looked like he could do with some entertainment, I knew I certainly could.

Sliding down a few seats I stood next to him, absently leaning against the bar for support. As he looked up from his food his clear, grey eyes caught my own shining emeralds. This guy looked like he was only about seventeen, that's pretty young to be serving on the front lines. The humans had a tendency to enlist anyone who could raise a blade. I suppose they thought quantity had a quality all its own. Either way, it seemed a damn shame to waste such a perfectly good looking young man on the horrors of Duskwood. Maybe it was the booze, or maybe it was the boredom, or maybe it was the innocent, country boy expression he had, but I felt compelled to play with him a bit.

"Uh, yes? Can I help you?" he asked.

I threw on the coyest voice I could, "I was just wondering, you serve in the Night Watch, right?"

"Yeah, I'm off my shift though. Why, is there something you need?"

I pulled my hood down, freeing the golden locks of my wavy hair to nestle around my neck. I could feel my ears pop out from under the fabric and this seemed to give him a start. "Nothing I need, hon. Just wondering what kind of dangers I can expect should I go traveling through these parts."

"You're… an elf!?" he muttered, leaning away a bit.

"A High Elf," I lied, "don't worry, I don't bite."

He seemed to settle down a bit but still looked taken aback, "Oh, right. Well, the roads aren't safe past nightfall. Worgen are roaming to the west, and Raven Hill has been overrun with the undead."

I nodded while pretending to listen intently. His leather armor was thick enough to provide protection but damn if it didn't cinch up in all the right places. He wasn't the broad-shouldered soldiering type; he had the more wiry strength and lean, fit form of a carpenter or farmer. It helped he was tall too, with long, solid legs and an ass I could… ohhh that moonshine was dangerous.

"Miss, you weren't planning on leaving tonight, were you?"

"Not if you can help it…" I muttered.

"What?"

Shaking my head a bit I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to clear my mind, "I mean, not if _I_ can help it. Sorry, it's been a long day."

His brows furrowed as he turned back to his meal, "That it has." He shoved the rest of his wolf steak in his mouth and said to me, "Sorry, I have to be getting back to my patrol. Stay safe."

"Yeah… you too," I replied, watching him walk out the door. Well, so much for entertainment. Slumping back on the stool I turned towards the bar again and put my head down. That's when the barkeep slapped another bottle on the counter.

"I'm good, thanks," I told him, rubbing my forehead a bit.

"It's taken care of," the bartender replied.

I looked at it. The bottle was a dark, earthen color and sealed with wax. "Who's treating?"

"Some fella came in a while ago, said to give it to the lady in the cloak by the fire."

"Thanks, but I'm not one for strange drinks." I replied. The bartender shrugged at me but left it sitting there. I stared at it, my head swirling in a haze of disbelief at the situation I found myself in. After a few minutes I let out a long breath and picked the bottle up. The weight of the clay made it seem full, but I couldn't feel any liquid sloshing inside.

Taking it, I slapped a few silvers on the counter and retreated towards the door, unsure of what I'd find inside. I'd seen everything from bombs to curses stuffed inside bottles like this and had half a mind to chuck it at the nearest shambling skeleton. Still, my curiosity was piqued, I was bored to tears, and I was three sheets to the wind. Pulling my dagger out I lopped the top of the wax off and spilled the contents out into my hand.

What slid out was a small scroll tied with a black and red ribbon. Oh mother, don't try to be mysterious, I thought as a smirk curled on my face. Then it slowly faded away, mother was many things but sneaky wasn't one of them. She was a paladin and used to strutting around like a peacock, not sending secret letters. What was going on? With a quick glance around I hustled back inside towards the firelight. Unfurling the scroll, I read over her impeccable penmanship but found it spelled out gibberish. Every time I looked at the Thalassian script the words seemed to fade. Cute, I thought. Enchanted scripts were hard to decipher without a mage and even harder when done in the elven tongue.

I stuffed the scroll in my cloak and began to wonder what on earth could be so important that it calls for this kind of secrecy. Certainly she'd know the more hidden you try to make something the more obvious it becomes to those looking for secrets. The most damning messages are the ones delivered in broad daylight in the middle of a crowded street. Still, at least she was trying. Maybe she had a new appreciation for my talents? Either way, it seemed I would be paying my little brother in Theramore a visit. It'd have to wait until morning though, there was no way I was going to travel around Duskwood at night.

Approaching the innkeeper I paid for a room and began staggering my way upstairs to sleep off the shine. There was a commotion outside but I paid it no mind and sequestered myself in my room. It was small and dimly lit by oil lamps but cozy enough. Just as I was about to remove my cloak a crier burst through the door below.

"An abomination of the undead approaches!" he shouted. I dashed out of my room and looked over the railing below. It was the man from the bar, his black leather armor marred with cuts and gashes like he'd been dragged along the cobbled street all the way from Raven Hill. As the watchman turned to go outside the townsfolk of the tavern began barricading the windows and overturning tables in a frenzy.

Flying down the stairs I ran out the door and around the corner of the inn. Forget this, I thought, I'll take my chances with the wolves and spiders. At that point the young watchman spotted me, "Hey, you!"

"What?!" I spat, whirling around on my heels.

"It isn't safe out here, get inside!"

"Sorry, hon, I have bigger fish to fry."

The insistent human grabbed my arm, "No, you don't understand!"

Instinctively I pulled my dagger out and swung it along his fingers, just close enough to graze the skin. The human nearly jumped out of his boots, holding his bleeding hand and staring at me with a mix of shock and confusion. Pointing the blade at his throat I said, "No, you don't understand. I'm leaving."

A ferocious voice rumbled off the masonry, "STITCHES HUUUUNGRY!" The gurgling bellow of the abomination echoed through the town as the Night Watch assembled in the square. The young man who accosted me drew his sword and rushed to join their ranks. Seeing my chance to make tracks, I cloaked myself in shadow and began making my way from building to building.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm no coward, but I'm also no fool. A rogue plans, analyzes, and strikes from the shadows, not rushing headlong into danger. This Night Watch was nothing but a bunch of reckless fools who didn't even have the power of the Light behind them. They kept their town safe by pure numbers, and something told me after tonight they'd be deprived even that. I watched from the shadows as the town's protectors assembled, although there were fewer than I thought. The abomination lumbered down the road and the humans held their swords ready in anticipation. I could almost hear their hearts pounding in their chests. The scent of adrenaline was flowing across the town square as itchy fingers twitched on leather-wrapped handles.

I found myself breathing deeply, prepared to sprint, although whether towards the fight or away I couldn't decide. These humans would be overpowered by such a fearsome monster, but such was their lot for staying in these cursed lands. My hands shifted to my weapons under my cloak. Whether that was the alcohol or my own pride taking over I wasn't sure, but I decided to roll with it. To hell with caution, I was going to show these humans how a Radical fights undeads.

The abomination clumsily ran into the throng of watchmen standing around outside like a gaggle of geese waiting to be hit by a moving cart. Dashing from wall to wall, I climbed onto the roof of the inn while waiting for the monster to be thoroughly distracted. Gazing at the melee below me, I pulled my hair back, the length of it shining in the bright moonlight. With one smooth action I drew my daggers and leapt. My cloak billowed behind me like the wings of a raven as both blades sank into the fleshy back of the undead. The daggers were buried straight down to their hilts and embalming fluid oozed like molasses from the grizzly wounds. Whether my attack actually hurt it though I couldn't tell as it merely shrugged me off like a ragdoll.

Rolling back, I gripped my knives and waited for another opening. A pair of watchmen charged forward only to be swept aside by its enormous meat cleaver. Then this "Stitches" started towards me. Swiping away with its big cleaver, I dodged, dodged, and dodged again, working myself closer with every step. Inside its defenses my daggers found its meaty underbelly and I began stabbing away, fast and hard in a flurry of steel. The abomination stumbled backwards and I leaped away, putting distance between us as I caught my breath. The Night Watch took this opportunity to fall on the creature with their own blades, slicing and wounding, but to little effect. They were strong sword arms but didn't have the finesse of proper warriors. All they managed to do was piss the creature off and several of them felt its wrath for their effort. Even still, I stood back, waiting for another opening.

One came again as some poor watchman was tangled in the abomination's rusted chains, distracting it momentarily. I ran forward and plunged my daggers into Stitches' side. Using my blades for leverage, I hoisted myself onto its shoulders and sunk both of them into its neck. With a cry of rage it grabbed my cloak and threw me off. I landed like a cat. Drawing my throwing knives I hurled one towards its neck, the blade sinking into its throat. Stitches took a step forward as the remaining Night Watch slashed at its legs and arms. I drew a second knife and threw it, striking right below the first in the middle of its chest. Stitches took a second step, slinging its meat hook at the watchmen as it did. The brave, stupid humans were thrown aside by its unholy strength. Taking a chance I sprinted headlong towards the creature. The abomination made a slow swing at me as I jumped on its back, grabbing my daggers and slinging them around my fingers as I prepared to go to work.

Stab-stab-stab, the creature was missing its eyes. In what was literally a blind rage it grabbed my leg and flung me to the ground. This time I landed awkwardly and bounced on the rough dirt. Adrenaline and alcohol pounding in my veins, I got to my feet and charged again, too pumped up to feel pain. The abomination lashed wildly at anything that made noise so I ran on the balls of my feet, fast and quiet. Desperately it flailed its meat hook and chain around, taking out a few more of the Night Watch in the process. With a flying leap I grabbed onto its back one last time. Knife drawn, my eviscerate struck the base of its skull. Stitches leaned forward and I slashed again, and again, and again before it finally collapsed to the ground in a gurgling mess of its own embalming fluid.

Standing on the fallen monster's back, I looked my handiwork over as I cleaned my blades. Undeath poured from the abomination's wounds like some foetid perfume. I nodded to myself and looked around, rather pleased with my performance all things considered. The wounded Night Watch pulled themselves together, tending to the wounded and poking the bloated corpse as if to be sure I killed it thoroughly enough. All in all they seemed unimpressed with my little demonstration. I wouldn't expect such philistines to appreciate the finer arts of martial prowess and athletic ability, but as the watchmen retreated inside and left me standing on my quarry I began to feel a little... taken for granted.

I sheathed my daggers and stepped off the filthy creature. A rogue always expects to be paid for their work. Here I dismantled an abomination for their Night Watch and all I demanded was a little recognition. How many lives did I save this night alone? Well, if appreciation was beyond their unrefined senses, some coin would certainly do. Surely Mayor Ebonlocke wouldn't mind parting with some of his coffers as a reward. Drawing my hood and pushing my way inside the town hall I approached the lord of this land, making sure not to get blood or filth on my cloak from the crowding Night Watch any more than I could help. Ello Ebonlocke looked away from the men now moving through his town hall and regarded me with stern, troubled eyes.

My tone dripped with courtesy, "Excuse me, your lordship, might I have a moment of your time?"

Lord Ebonlocke patted one of his militia on the shoulder before turning back to me, "Yes, of course, stranger. What is it?"

I folded my arms around my cloak, concealing my form beneath its dark green canvas, "Certainly you caught my performance outside, the solution to your abomination problem?"

Lord Ebonlocke's eyes widened as I said this, "Ah, of course! It's not every day outsiders are willing to help us, especially when it seems Stormwind itself has abandoned our village. The people of Darkshire owe you a great debt."

"Yes," I grinned, "that is what I wanted to discuss."

In a flash the lord's expression switched from beaming enthusiasm to its previous hard and set look. "I see. So a sell-sword has come to my town to find a captive market?"

I gasped, my hand rising in front of my mouth in shock. A sell-sword? I've been called a thief, a scoundrel, a spy, a cutthroat, and even a murderer, but a sell-sword? This man dared compare my combat artistry to the blunt skills of an irregular? I had half a mind to demonstrate the difference for him on one of his beloved Night Watch, but in his experience and wisdom he chose that moment to dig out his coffer key.

In a gruff tone he said, "Don't worry, I'll give you your due." He bent over a chest on the floor and unlocked it, then grabbed something inside. "Let it never be said my town doesn't repay its debts. And I am genuinely grateful for your help." With this he handed me a small bag of coins.

I took it and bowed graciously, "Thank you, your lordship! Now if you'll excuse me, I must be leaving."

He didn't reply as I walked out into the square, pushing my way through the crowd again. Counting the silver coins I frowned, there was not even a full gold's worth in there. The night was young, if I tried I could make it to Stormwind by morning. Then I remembered I already paid for a room, and seeing as I was still half drunk I decided to make use of it. Once inside the Scarlet Raven I found the place packed with the Night Watch. Most were wounded being attended to by the inn staff and locals, but a few were there to take the edge off their nerves with a stiff drink or two. I climbed the stairs without a word and found my room, only now it appeared to be occupied. A wounded Night Watch, the man from the bar, lay in my bed. His black tunic was replaced with bandages while his head was propped up on a few downy pillows.

I leaned against the doorway, glaring at the human, "And just what do you think you're doing in here?"

The young man regarded me strangely, "I'm sorry? The innkeeper put me up for the night."

That was perfect. First these humans don't appreciate the spectacle I put on for their benefit, then they pay me a workman's wages for my skills, now they won't even furnish me the room that I paid for! Stepping forward I said, "I already paid for this room."

The watchman looked around and shrugged, "I'm sorry but I'm too banged up to make it back home tonight."

I folded my arms, "I don't care."

Anger flashed across the watchman's face but it quickly fell to resignation. He knew who he was speaking to, he'd seen me fight, and he knew I wasn't about to take any excuses. Tenderly he shifted his feet to the edge of the bed and stood up. His hand was bandaged from where I'd cut his fingers open and as he walked towards the door I saw a limp on his right side. He really was hurt. But then again, so were most of the Night Watch. They were too careless, and this is what happens when you fool around with the undead. My lips twisted into a crooked expression. As he walked past me I caught his shoulder and spun him around back towards the bed.

"Nevermind, just… go rest up," I said.

The watchman gave me a weird look, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'll figure something out."

He looked me over for a second before shuffling back to bed. I turned to leave but the young man stopped me, "Hey, um, thank you for helping us."

With my hand on the door I said, "Don't mention it. And I'm sorry about the cut, it's a reflex."

"Oh, it doesn't hurt anymore," he replied, rubbing his bandage. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Jacqueline, but you can call me Jacque Radical."

He gave me a blank stare, "Are… you serious?"

"What? Yes, of course I'm serious," I said, drawing one of my blades. "Perhaps you don't believe I'm the real Jacque Radical? Maybe another demonstration is in order."

"No! Okay, I'm sorry." he said, sliding under the covers a little further as though he was being enveloped by the bedsheets. "You're definitely the umm… real… Jacque Radical."

Putting my dagger away with a smile, I stepped towards him, "I'm joking, relax." The young watchman eyed me cautiously as I sat on the side of his bed, "How about you tell me your name?"

"It's Derrek, Derrek Hagerson," he replied.

I leaned over him, undoing my cloak and letting it fall to the floor beside us, "You know, Derrek, it is still pretty dangerous on the roads."

He sat up a little, "I'm sure you can handle yourself, miss."

"Oh, of course," I said, "but what I mean is, why take any unnecessary risks?" I slid closer to him, my embroidered leather pants nudging against his hips. "Surely we can work something out."

Derrek pulled away, shuffling up against the headboard, "Oh, um, I don't see how."

My, this one was thick. I leaned over him and ran my fingers through my hair, letting it fall in his lap, "I did pay for this room after all, but since you can't leave, I was thinking perhaps we could share."

The boy seemed nervous as I crept closer, my eyes locking his. "I'm sorry, miss, but you don't understand."

"What's the matter?" I said, "Don't tell me there's a Mrs. Hagerson waiting for you."

"No, there's not, but—"

I cut him off, putting my lips to his. My arm reached around his head and he seemed frozen in shock. Then he gave me a hard shove. "Get off of me!"

"What the hell is your problem?" I said, drawing back.

"I'm not into you, alright!?" he said firmly.

My face was the very image of dejection. He took a deep breath as I slowly gathered my cloak from the floor. "I'm sorry," he said, "It's not you it's just, I'm not into… you know."

"Elves?" I said callously.

"Women."

I stopped what I was doing to give him an empty look, "Oh, I see. I… can't believe I didn't pick up on it."

"Yeah, I appreciate the gesture but um, best just leave it at that."

I dawned my cloak and stepped towards the door, "Well then, I guess I'd better be going. I'm sorry about all the unwanted attention."

"It's alright," he said, more at ease now, "please be careful on the road."

I nodded and stepped outside. Shutting the door behind me I let out a groan. I've had my fair share of awkward situations but that one right there took it. Thank my lucky stars no one was around to witness it, although I was sure by the morning word would have spread through the whole town. All the more reason to get out of here, I thought. As the Night Watch slowly sorted themselves out from disheveled and wounded to patched up and heroic I hit up the innkeeper for my refund. She obliged without any argument. Double-booking in this case, while annoying, could be forgiven.

I walked outside where the dripping corpse of Stitches was being surrounded with cordwood, the townsfolk stacking it in preparation for the pyre. These humans… so stupid and tenacious, yet at the same time possessing remarkable bravery. The cool night air settling over me, I pulled my hood up and began the trek north.


	2. Chapter 2

A soft evening wind blew off the coast of Theramore. The sea breeze mixed the delicious fragrance of food cooking on a wood fire from the inn below with the calming scent of spindrift. Nights like these I often left my window open as I worked, the atmosphere is a pleasure for the senses and alights the imagination. It also allowed for adequate ventilation should an experiment go awry. And much experimentation there was, for this particular night I was on the edge of a breakthrough. For several weeks my labors outside of the mandatory curriculum set by the tower have been focused on a singular goal; the alchemical distillation of an all new compound. I sometimes worried that my personal ambitions got in the way of my schoolwork, but academic progress is an organic, evolving thing. Stimulation of the muse is just as necessary as the cerebral, and I took great pleasure in my alchemical hobby.

My little room was nestled on the ground floor of the mage tower of the great Lady Jaina Proudmoore. My window overlooked Theramore below, and although my quarters were cramped compared to most students, it was more than adequate for my needs. Besides, I was lucky to reside here at all. Blood Elves, even those with a human father, tend to be rejected by Alliance nobles. Theramore however was far more progressive than most and I found myself working beside not only humans but High Elves as well. It was a tenuous peace sometimes. Although academically I was a star pupil, my social accolades were almost nonexistent. My mentors never openly protested instructing a Blood Elf but my classmates more than once made me late for class, leaving me wandering the tower as some polymorphed sheep or frozen in place by frost oil on the floor. I took such things in stride, my education was too important to me and the atmosphere was still more pleasant than Silvermoon.

Beakers of liquid coalesced, bubbled, and smoked above tiny flames as I reviewed my notes and began a modification of the formula. The chemistry was difficult, reagents of this sort, even in a mage tower, were difficult to procure. The magical components were trivial by comparison but could not be neglected. And then there was the delivery mechanism. I'd befriended a gnomish mage named Bazzle Crimpnozzle last semester who dabbled in engineering, as gnomes are wont to do. At my behest he manufactured a modified delivery system that would combine two separate liquids at the time of application, as separation of the chemical and magical components was necessary for proper storage.

The compound in the beaker cleared from cloudy to clear, pure blue. I gently added it to the first chamber of the storage container, a long glass tube connected via a rubber hose to the spray device. The magical component prepared, I reached for my pestle and mortar, grinding my fresh concoction into another awaiting vial. The application from a few other beakers produced a plume of sweet smelling smoke, incomplete without the magical component but pleasant nonetheless. I was on the right track. Attaching the second vial to the first and securing the device to the top, I examined my handiwork. Pale blue and light yellow swirled in their respective containers, her favorite colors. The application device was plated silver to match her hair. Together it looked nearly perfect. Now, to test. I held my hand out and sprayed a dose on the inside of my wrist. The chemicals glowed softly in the dim candlelight, settling and producing a faint sheen that caught light like the enamel on a fine piece of ivory. Giving it a moment to breathe, I carefully wafted the scent towards my face. Fresh cut flowers, the breeze of the sea, and the almost imperceptible hint of organic compounds to mimic pheromones. It was a subtle but entrancing aroma. And, I thought to myself, she'd never find another quite like it.

Setting the perfume down I took a moment to marvel at my creation. I finished my recipe and set it aside in my notebook, then dug out a length of ribbon. Carefully I fashioned it into a bow, giving the present a more festive look. Yes, I thought, this was perfect. Now there was just the matter of… the letter. I rummaged under my bed for my seldom used stationary set my mother had given me for my birthday. It wasn't often I needed to write an important letter. I inked my pen and scrawled on the page:

"Dear Eris,

I wish you the happiest 18th birthday,"

I stared at the paper. A few minutes rolled on and I still had nothing more written. The production of the gift had preoccupied my mind for so long I'd forgotten the most critical step; the social catalyst. It was bad enough I couldn't muster the courage to speak to her, now I found myself unable to even pen her a simple letter of congratulations. Staring at one of my flickering burners I began to space out, then absently turned it off to conserve fuel. That's when I noticed the shadow of a figure standing behind me. Instantly I spun around to find myself looking at my sister, Jacqueline.

"GAH!" I shrieked, falling from the wooden chair.

"What'cha doing, Iggy?" she asked.

Picking myself I up I stared at her incredulously, "I should ask what you are doing in my dormitory, Jacqueline!?"

She took a seat next to the window on a stack of wooden boxes loaded with school texts. Her cloak was open, revealing the leather armor she'd put together when she left home. It was tight and left little to the imagination, but never restricted her movement. My older sister won in the genetic lottery, taking the lion's share of the looks from both mother and father. With long, blonde hair and a soft face, she was a tall and slender elf. Nonetheless she was curvier and more… voluptuous than other Blood Elves, traits she inherited from her human blood. I on the other hand was shorter, cursed with a slight frame, and had an altogether more fragile appearance. My lack of athleticism only compounded the gulf between us, and I found my dark brown hair mixed with my gaunt face gave me a harder expression than I usually intended. Needless to say, she'd flaunted these advantages over me since childhood. I had not seen my sister in some time, but I had no reason to believe that circumstances between us had changed.

Crossing her legs, she glanced around my living quarters, "Nice place, was this a storage closet they shoved you in?"

"Speak your piece," I said. It actually had been a storage closet.

"Settle down, Iggy. It's been too long since I've gotten a chance to visit my little brother." She picked up a notebook from one of my stacks, "What'cha been up to?"

"It's Ignatius," I replied. "It has always been Ignatius, and put that down!"

She slapped the book shut and threw it at me, "Alright, egghead."

The book hit my chest and exploded into loose-leaf paper. While I gathered my notes she stood and came towards my work bench. I saw her lift the present I had laying to the side, "For god's sake, Jacqueline, don't touch that!"

"What is it?"

"An experimental compound!" I said, trying to snatch it away. She was too fast for me and spritzed some on her wrist. The fragrance wafted through the air and she smiled a devilish grin.

"Aw, Iggy, do you have yourself a girlfriend?"

I didn't say anything. The last thing I wanted was her interfering with my social life. Any combination of Jacqueline and my social circles always ended in disaster and was no small contribution to my frequent sequestration during childhood. She picked up the unfinished letter and read it aloud.

"Eris hmm? Doesn't look like you've finished." She waved the page in front of me, "Who is she, a classmate I assume?"

"Give me that—oh nevermind," I said as she turned away. The only sure way to get Jacqueline to leave was to simply ignore her long enough that she got distracted or bored. As she looked it over I began with the disassembly of my alchemy set. Seeing I was disinterested in her fumbling with my personal life, she set the letter back down and pulled out a scroll from her cloak.

"What's this?" I asked.

"A letter from mother."

I regarded her strangely, "What about?"

Jacqueline shrugged, "Dunno, I can't read it."

"What do you mean you can't read it? Give me that," I said, taking it from her. The script was indeed mother's handwriting but it was enchanted. My eyes refused to focus on the words. A magical cipher would release the illusion but the fact mother even attempted to conceal her writing bode ill.

Jacqueline must have noticed my worried expression, "She put a lot of effort into making sure it was delivered unnoticed."

"I don't understand," I said, still gazing at the letter. "If she was going to use this arcane script why write you? Why not just have it delivered to me?"

"Two letters are easier to intercept than one," she replied. "And I can only assume she wants us both to read it."

"Right…"

"Can you release the spell?"

Before she'd even finished the sentence I was shoving papers and books aside on my workbench. I sprawled the paper before me and thumbed through a stack of my inscription notes, pulling out anything I thought would be relevant. Soon my desk was covered in magical ink, broken quills, and expended mana gems. My sister watched from behind me so closely at times I could see the glow from her eyes on the paper.

"Wow…" she said as I furiously unravelled the script.

Not looking up I muttered, "What?"

"Nothing, just… you really are an egghead."

I stared straight ahead and set my quill down. Then I turned to face her, "Do you want my help or not?"

In a flippant tone she replied, "Yes, yes, I'm sorry. Please, continue."

After about fifteen minutes more I had the message transcribed. Jacqueline crowded over my shoulder as I held it up to the light:

 _My dearest children,_

 _I apologize for the secrecy of this letter but I needed to be certain my message was received in confidence. There is conspiracy in Silvermoon and I cannot trust this correspondence to be delivered safely through more traditional means._

 _Your father is missing. I have not spoken to him in two months at the time of this writing. Days before his departure he was absorbed in the work of the Order of the Silver Hand. I do not know what manner of quest they sent him on, but in the days leading up to his disappearance he was distraught like I have not seen in years. Naturally he refused to tell me the nature of his worry, you know your father, but I could feel the weight of it in his eyes. When he left Silvermoon he informed me he would write as soon as he returned to Stormwind. A week past and I heard nothing. I wrote the Cathedral and received no response. A month past and still nothing. I began petitioning the Blood Knights to arrange a visit to the Cathedral myself, thinking your father was off on one of his wild escapades, but I was stonewalled._

 _Returning home from my week-long petition in Farstrider Square I found our house ransacked. I do not know all that the thieves took but your fathers' journal along with letters from both of you were missing. I've gone into hiding and while the conditions are abysmal I can assure you I am in no immediate danger. Ignatius, I advise you to stay in Theramore. It is likely the best place for you to be considering Alliance and Horde politics. Be safe and continue your studies. Jacqueline, you have proven yourself to be resourceful and independent in the past. I do not know what forces are at work here but I advise you to seek out whatever hiding places you can. Your tendency to steal your father's moniker will likely draw some unwanted attention, and in spite of what you may think you are not your father._

 _I love you both and pray every day that the Light keeps you safe. Walk in the sun, my children, but tread lightly. I will be in contact again as soon as it is safe to do so._

 _Your loving mother,_

 _Lysandra_

I put the letter down on the desk and found myself hyperventilating. Father missing? Mother in hiding? Our home, destroyed? Thoughts raced through my head as Jacqueline paced behind me. A thousand possibilities clashed against each other in my mind. Father had a long, colorful history and made more than his fair share of enemies. I always suspected they would one day get the better of him, but that they would go so far as to attack his family after he was already gone seemed odd. This was not some rogue individual with a vendetta, it was as mother said, a conspiracy.

Jacqueline tapped her foot, a gloved hand covering her mouth in pensive thought. "This is weird, Iggy. Why would someone kidnap daddy?" 

"Who said anything about kidnapping?" I replied. "For all we know father could be floating at the bottom of the Stormwind canal wearing a pair of cement shoes."

She smacked the back of my head and I recoiled away. "You know damn well daddy would never go down like that."

"OW!" I rubbed the sore spot on my head and grimaced.

"If this was murder, mother would be dead too and the house would probably be burned to the ground." She seemed rather sure of that fact and I decided not to ask how such information was acquired. "There's too many loose ends here. Someone was looking for something, Iggy, and whatever it was was in daddy's journal."

"Or in one of our letters. Or maybe they didn't find anything," I said.

"Possibly. Either way, the fact that mother was kept in the dark so long means they were buying for time, and the break-in means they needed something of his. He's still alive, Iggy."

I shook my head, it was all conjecture but wasn't worth another rap on the skull for arguing. "Well, whatever the case, I guess I'll stay put."

My sister looked like she was about to burst, "What do you mean stay put!? We have to find daddy!"

"Didn't you read what mother said? She wants us to lay low, and that's exactly what I'm going to do."

"You always were a momma's boy," she replied, poking me in the chest, "When are you going to grow up?"

"I have, Jacqueline, and that's why I'm staying here. The question is when will you grow up?" I began putting away my notes, "I applied myself and now this place is like a second home to me. You on the other hand ran away from the only one that loved you."

"Hmph, you think you're welcome here? They stuffed you in a closet."

I shot her a keen look, "Like I said, it reminds me of home."

She glanced out the window, fingers twitching impatiently, "Well it seems neither of us have a home anymore. I have the road and you have a cupboard you call a dormitory."

"It serves my purposes."

"Damn it, Iggy!" Grabbing the windowsill she leaned against it, "How can you just sit here? Mother is on the run and father is in danger!"

Standing to meet her gaze I said, "Did it not occur to you that the powers behind this are a little beyond our abilities? They bested both our parents and we know nothing of who they are nor their motivations. Our best course of action is to sit and wait."

Jacqueline's face tightened, then she let out a deep breath. "I didn't want to have to do this, Iggy." She walked towards my workbench and in a flash snatched the perfume. "But if you aren't going to help me, I'll have to make you."

"What are you doing, put that back."

"Nuh-uh, not unless you come with me to Silvermoon."

My heart started pounding in my chest. Silvermoon was the last place either of us should be going at a time like this, but that wasn't what bothered me. It took me nearly a month to acquire the ingredients for that present. "Jacqueline, give that to me."

She stuffed it in her cloak, "I'm sure I'll be able to fence it for a good price. It is a fine perfume, should fetch at least a few gold in the right tavern."

I glared at her, hard and fierce. I couldn't do anything to her or risk breaking the bottle, but at the same time I couldn't just let Jacqueline walk off with it. My work, months of research and preparation, stolen right in front of me by my own sister. I had no reason to doubt her motives, if I didn't escort her to Silvermoon it was likely to be sold by the end of the night. Gradually my anger fell into resignation. Between all the tumultuous emotions of the night my face must have looked particularly tragic, because as I reached for my travelling gear she said, "Don't worry, Iggy. I'll make it up to you."

I refused to respond as I put on my cloak and took up my quarterstaff. Reaching in my pocket I produced a rune of portals and began the incantation to take us to Silvermoon City. Jacqueline crossed her arms and waited expectantly as a bright, shining, magical window engulfed the center of my small room. Let's just make this fast, I thought to myself. Once the magical barriers stabilized I nodded and we walked through.


	3. Chapter 3

The streets of Silvermoon City were pretty empty this late at night, especially outside the Royal Exchange. Cautiously my brother and I wound our way along the roads that led to our house by the Walk of Elders. As we walked I felt my heart beating in my chest. I had no idea what we'd find there but by now the shock of the letter had given way to the thrill of adventure. My face was hidden under my cloak just in case someone recognized me, but Iggy seemed to go out of his way to gawk around every corner as though he were already being tailed. He was so conspicuous I felt exposed just being around him.

"Must you act so ridiculous?" I said as Iggy weaved to and fro.

He looked back at me, the bright glow of his eyes betraying his nervousness, "I'm not used to this skulking around."

"We haven't even begun the skulking part. Just try not to look like you're about to burgle any given property."

"I wouldn't—I mean, I'm not," he said, peering through the darkness towards home.

When we were about a block away from the house I decided it was time to start being more careful. I didn't know how long ago mother's letter was sent but someone could still be watching the property, waiting for someone to come snooping. Slipping between two houses I entered the shadows and sprung between the buildings, silent and quick. Iggy continued plodding down the road, seemingly unaware I'd left his side. When I approached our home, a regal two story house with a small garden, I had a look around for anything suspicious. The outside was almost completely normal save for a couple weeks of poor grounds-keeping. No windows broken, no doors busted in, not even a trodden flower. I checked the door, the house was unlocked. Peering through a window revealed the inside to be a disaster. Not a single piece of furniture was left standing; books, lamps, papers, dishes, everything was strewn on the floor.

At this point Iggy realized I wasn't around anymore and began to freak out. He started spinning around in circles in the middle of the street, clutching his quarterstaff like it might save him from some unseen attacker lurking in the alleyways that crisscrossed the better part of Silvermoon. Confident the house was safe, I proceeded towards him. Iggy was so distracted by his own paranoia he didn't even see me coming. When I tapped him on the shoulder he nearly whacked me with his stick, jumping backwards and cursing up a storm.

"Hahaha, Iggy, calm down!"

"Khadgar's whiskers, Jacqueline!" he panted. "Where the hell have you been!?"

"Making sure the house is safe." I thumbed toward our home behind me, "Mother wasn't exaggerating, the entire place is wrecked."

Iggy's long, dark brows furrowed with worry and he started to approach the door. "It looks fine out here."

Giving the latch a once over for traps, I turned the handle and opened it wide. Iggy looked like he'd seen a ghost as I walked inside.

"I don't get it," he said, stepping on the debris by the doorway. "Why would they destroy everything so needlessly? Mother said they took father's journal but that wasn't hidden."

"They weren't looking for his journal or our letters," I said. Pacing the room I kicked the refuse that used to be our family's home.

"But that's what they took," Iggy replied.

"That's what mother thinks they took. Look at this place, for all we know his journal could be scattered all across the house."

As if to be sure of that fact he glanced around, picked a few pieces of paper up, checked to see if anything looked familiar and discarded them one by one. "Do you think it was just a burglary then?"

"No, there's no sign of forced entry and even a burglar wouldn't be this destructive."

"Then what?"

I leaned against the wall and mulled it over. Iggy was smart but for all his brains he wouldn't know a good setup if it slapped him in the face. The door was unlocked, but that was probably from when mother came home from Farseer Square. That or someone came back to the scene, I couldn't tell which. There was no forced entry though which is what bothered me the most. That meant the person either used magic to open the door, which with Silvermoon homes was a feat in and of itself, or they had a key. Whoever did this had to have lived here or captured someone who did. All this pointed to either daddy being kidnapped or mother staging an extremely elaborate insurance fraud. But if they'd already kidnapped daddy, why destroy the place? Mother was away for an entire week, certainly that would have been enough time to slip in, search the place, and slip out again unnoticed.

"You awake in there?" Iggy said, waving his hand in front of my face.

I snatched him by the wrist, "I'm trying to think."

He pulled away and removed a mana gem from his pocket, "Allow me try to scry for magic, perhaps they teleported inside."

"You do that," I said. With my little brother thoroughly absorbed in his magical hoogy-whatsit, I tried to pick up my train of thought. Now then, why destroy the place. Did they want to hide what they took? Maybe they took daddy's journal but as a cover for something else, something far more important. Or, perhaps they were frustrated. Maybe they didn't find anything and just ransacked the entire house. Or it could be a warning.

Iggy's glowing gem led him around the room like a lost puppy until he eventually wandered upstairs. I decided to follow him up in case maybe I was missing something but found an identical scene in the bedrooms. Beds broken, tables knocked over, all the linens and clothes scattered around. This wasn't a warning. A broken door and a letter was a warning. This was someone looking for something extremely important. Someone with a lot of resources but who was working on a time table. I hadn't seen the journal or our letters anywhere, perhaps they were taken. But why take them? Nothing father kept in there was secret really, and nothing from our correspondence was sensitive. Well, not outside the immediate family anyway. Unless…

I hurried downstairs to daddy's desk and began to rifle through the paper strewn around it. Bank ledgers and old reports remained, but none of his letters. Everything from his personal drawers from friends and family was gone. Clutching the loose pages in my hand I felt a grin sweep across my face.

"Jacqueline! I believe I've found something up here!" Iggy called out.

Running up the stairs two at a time I almost bowled him over in the narrow hallway.

"Watch it!" he said, stumbling back.

Gleefully I said, "I know what they were after!"

"What?"

"All of daddy's letters are gone!"

His expressed screwed up into a condescending frown, "Well of course, mother told us that much."

"She told us _our_ letters were gone. All of them are, everything from anyone daddy's ever written to."

"So?"

I paced back and forth in an effort to contain my building excitement, " _Sooo_ that means whoever broke in here was looking for names. They're after something or someone daddy was working with. They couldn't find it, so they took the next best thing: Every lead they could get their hands on."

"Oh… but who's they?"

"No idea, but whoever it is, they definitely have him captive. How else would they have gotten the key for the front door?"

Iggy shrugged, "They could have gotten some harlot to lay him in a shady bar and stolen the key while his pants were down."

He braced himself as though I was going to strike him like before, but knowing daddy that was an entirely plausible and altogether much less dire scenario, so I let it slide. Instead I returned his shrug and said, "So what was it you found?"

"Oh, yes, in father's room." My little brother led me into the master bedroom and towards the wardrobe. Amidst my parents strewn clothing was a hilt sticking out of a large blade in a poorly fitting leather scabbard. I picked it up, the sheath practically falling off as I did so. It was an old sword, silvered and of elven make but worn with time and use. Even in the pale moonlight though I could tell the craftsmanship was impeccable. The runes scrawled across the metal had long since lost their magic and appeared strange. Not the arcane scrawling of enchanters nor the masterwork of blacksmiths, they seemed somehow cruder.

"It's just a sword," I said. "Our parents had plenty of these lying around."

Iggy took it from my hands, "This is no ordinary weapon. It is a Death Knight's runeblade!"

"A runeblade? In a house with two paladins?" I leaned over so I was eye to eye with him, shuffling his hair with my gloved hand, "I think all the fumes from your chemistry set have fried your brain."

"I know what it is," he said, pushing me away. "Look at the etching, the magic has faded but the taint of undeath still lingers in the steel."

"Uh huh. You mean to tell me one of our parents has been a Death Knight this entire time?"

"Maybe they kept it as a trophy. Father never did tell us what became of the Death Knight he met in Northrend. Perhaps he slew her."

I chuckled at the notion of daddy slaying a comrade in arms like that. Iggy never liked dad-or father as he always called him. I could never understand why, since daddy always seemed to go out of his way to spend time with him. If anything I was a little jealous, but what sibling doesn't think the other is the favorite? At least I knew I was an Abrams, or rather, a Radical. Iggy still referred to himself by mother's maiden name when in the company of other elves. When we were kids I used to beat him up whenever I caught him doing it but as we got older I began to understand why. Half-elves aren't exactly esteemed among the Blood Elf community and between the two of us he usually caught the worst of it. I suppose he resented his human blood, and father for it, but he wouldn't be half the stubborn genius he was without it.

Either way, there were two things I was sure of: First, the only way you were going to separate a Death Knight from its runeblade was to kill it, and second, no self-respecting paladin would take a cursed blade home as a trophy of conquest. This was obviously just another of our parents' many arms. It was even elven-made. At last I responded, "Alright, Iggy, whatever you say."

He held the blade in his hands. It was far too large for him and he was thrown off balance as he tried to swing into the air. "It's Ignatius, for the last time! And how do we proceed from here? We still don't know who broke into the house or abducted father."

"They didn't break in. But at least we know what they're doing now. I think I'm going to pay some of daddy's old friends a visit, see if anything strange is happening. Maybe I can even head off our villain. Or villains."

My little brother stared at the hilt a moment and started rubbing the tarnished silver with his thumb, "Hmm, there's a name engraved."

"Oh?"

"Fyodora Rhymewind… I don't suppose she could be our burglar."

"A burglar who leaves their own weapon behind? Doubtful. Maybe she was an initiate who didn't cut it, or someone fallen in battle long ago."

Iggy shook his head, "Perhaps. Maybe I could seek her out? If she's still alive she might shed some light on this situation."

"That blade's pretty old and for all you know she could be one of father's flings. How awkward would that be, hmm?"

He pondered this for a second and looked the blade over again, "You could be right, never mind. Either way, it's getting late and I should get back to Theramore."

"Good idea," I said, taking the weapon from him. "You go back to your closet and leave the adventuring to me. I'll let you know if I need another letter decoded or old sword dug up."

He gave that familiar scowl of a spurned sibling. "At least I have the good sense to know when I'm in over my head." He reached for the sword, "And give that back, I would like to study it."

"Forget it! With a little acid and a metal file this thing will bring in enough gold at the auction house to loosen tongues even in Silvermoon." I held the blade awkwardly, it was too big even for me. Whoever used this must have been as strong as an orc.

My brother gave me a hard look, "Jacqueline, you said you'd make this trip up to me somehow. Are you going to honor your word or not?"

Heh, a rogue only honors her word when it's prudent. Not that pissing Iggy off was something I particularly wanted to do, but having the extra gold to pay informants (and for some entertainment) meant more to me at that moment than being in his good graces. He'd have to stifle his curiosity this time. I slung the blade over my shoulder and shook my head, "Sorry, little brother, not this time."

He snarled in disgust, "Then at least give me my present so I can be on my way."

With a sigh I said, "Alright, fine." I reached my hand into my cloak pocket. Then into my other one. Then I began patting all of my pockets. Iggy must have seen the surprise on my face as his own began to glow red.

"Jacqueline, where is my present?"

"I uh," I double-checked my pockets, "Oh no."

Iggy's hands began to tremble, "Please tell me you did not lose my gift."

"Uh," I rifled through my cloak for the third time. "It must have fallen out of my pocket. It's gotta be around here…" I gazed over the room and its all-encompassing mess, "…somewhere?"

I've seen my little brother angry more times than I can count but not since his studies in Theramore began. At once I could feel the temperature in the room dropping. Iggy's eyes glowed with piercing light as ice crystals began to swirl in his hands. I tried to duck but it was no good as a cyclone of frigid air blasted me, sending the piles of clothing flying across the room and freezing me to the hardwood floor. Before I could pry myself up he removed the sword from my grip with a sneer.

"Enjoy your quest, charlatan," he said. Then he pulled a rune from his robe and teleported away, leaving me stuck to the ground.

As the air in the room settled the frost binding me began to thaw. Staring at the ceiling, I slowly wiggled my arm free and tucked it into my cloak. There I felt the glass vials and silvered metal of his perfume bottle. A smile crossed my face; my gambit may have backfired, but at least I wasn't leaving empty handed.


	4. Chapter 4

Seething with anger I threw the door to my dormitory open and stormed inside, leaving my prize on the workbench. The wrought iron door-ring clanged against the old wood as I slammed the door. Pulling the gear from my back and began pacing across the room, unable to contain the viscous emotion. My sister was a cruel viper but this was outrageous even for her. I asked for no part in this undertaking, what right did she have to mock me for taking my studies seriously? And stealing my present! The product of months of labor, all that work ruined! I felt my hands ball in to fists as I brooded in my small chamber.

In my frustration I turned to the runeblade. As it happened, I didn't leave empty-handed and this artifact may yet yield information regarding father's whereabouts. My curiosity beginning to supersede my anger I examined the sword again. Jacqueline might not have believed me but I knew Scourge magic when I felt it. The appearance of this blade in the home of two paladins could only mean something dire. Perhaps Jacqueline was wrong about the letters, maybe this was a warning left by a powerful undead. Could one of father's old rivals from Northrend have come back to haunt him? To shatter his family with terror and suspicion? It is certainly something a jaded undead would do. Or perhaps it was a keepsake of a fallen comrade. I'd heard ghoulish tales of heroes disappearing in the tundra only to reappear as Death Knights or other fiends under the Lich King's control.

The possibilities floated through my mind. Sitting down at my bench, I was now thoroughly absorbed in examining the sword. Sleep, I thought, would not find me this night. Not that it mattered, countless nights were already lost in the pursuit of perfecting my compound, time which was now wasted. One more wouldn't kill me and the next day held no classes anyway. In the candlelight I began to fix the ingredients for a bowl of scrying. This would be a simple measure to determine if the owner of the sword was still alive. I knew of course they were not, no Death Knight ever separates from their runeblade willingly, but the scientific process must be followed, especially in matters of evil artifacts. By all accounts I should probably not have attempted any magical surveillance without a magister present but my pride was on the line. I was going to prove to Jacqueline once and for all the utility of my studies by beating her at her own game.

With a mana gem in hand I began to peer into my bowl, the swirling waters clouded and frothing. I was fortunate, runeblades are powerful artifacts of their owners and the stronger the connection the more accurate the scry. This would for certain rule out—wait. The waters cleared and an image filled my mind. It was Silvermoon City, but not the Silvermoon I was familiar with. The houses were crammed one on top of each other in the middle of a maze of alleyways. It reminded me of the human cities in its ramshackle layout, lacking the refinement of proper elven construction. My mind focused on a single house amid this swath of cracked plaster and worn paving stones. A small light shone through the front window although I could not tell what was inside. The strength of the connection burned in my mind's eye, this had to be the location. If not of the owner then of one strongly associated with them.

Drawing myself from the bowl I set it aside, looking at the sword itself. Could there really be a Death Knight residing in Silvermoon? I knew of their occasional visitations since the defection of the Ebon Blade in Northrend but those were so unusual and scandalous that word tore through the city's gossip chains from the moment they appeared. Well, I thought, if this one was hiding they picked the perfect location to do it. Murder Row was a place no self-respecting high class Blood Elf would be caught visiting. Or perhaps it was an old residence from before the owner's turning, or the home of a family member. There were a number of possible connections, but no matter of conjecture or arcane manipulation on my part would satisfy my curiosity as easily as simply visiting the source.

It was late though and whoever resided there was likely asleep at this hour. Perhaps I would get some rest after all, I did not expect such clear results so soon. Pulling my robes off I sprawled out on my bed. The ocean air wafted through the open window and my mind began to settle into two coalescing thoughts: The simple plan of seeking out that disheveled residence in the morning, and the knowledge that Eris' birthday would pass me by. The fuming anger I held before was now gone, replaced with the pitiful reflection of the night's events. My eyes grew heavy as I considered the futility of my amorous scheme from its conception in this all too familiar, dreary light. Gift or no gift, if my own sister treated me with such disdain how could I expect others to regard me any different? These thoughts piled like boulders on my mind as I slowly fell asleep.

The next morning I shared breakfast in the common room with my friend Bazzle Crimpnozzle, one of the few students in the tower who seemed indifferent to my racial affiliation. Upon his emergence I could tell he'd been awake for a while already, working on… experiments of his own.

"Good morning, Ignatius!" he said. His high voice was drawn out and a haze of smoke trailed from the pipe in his hands.

"Good morning," I replied.

He took a seat next to me and helped himself to some of the morning loaf, "Are you okay, dude? You appear despondent."

I glanced over at the gnome, his bloodshot eyes staring at me expectantly. "I had a visit from my sister yesterday, it didn't end well."

"Aw man, not her again," he said, taking a puff from his pipe. "I'm just glad I missed her, last time she made off with half of my reagents!"

"Yes, well, this time she made off with my present."

Bazzle slapped his pipe down on the table, his voice squeaking, "She didn't!"

I nodded solemnly. Bazzle violently began slathering his bread with butter and jam, "I can't believe it! The nerve of that woman! How long did you work on that compound? A month? Two? And that applicator took me over a week to manufacture!"

"I know, Bazzle." My head fell into my hands as he shoved the bread in his mouth. "I don't know what I'm going do."

The gnome shook his head, "Well dude, that is undoubtedly and positively an absolute bummer." He offered me his pipe but I graciously refused. "Have you tried other means of procuring a gift?"

"If you mean purchasing one, the ingredients for the perfume cost me nearly everything," I replied. "Besides, anyone can buy a gift. This was meant to be special."

"True… Personally I don't see what you find so attractive about elves. Too tall for my taste, and too much in the legs. I require a sturdy structure, _IF_ you can relate," He made a kind of round hourglass shape with his hands in the outline of a gnomish girl. "Try wishing her a happy birthday anyway. Statistical anomalies do occur, you know."

"I'm well aware, and thank you, but I've found something else to occupy my time."

Bazzle took a long drink of moonberry juice, "Something more important than Eris? Do tell!"

"Not more important," I reiterated, "Just more realistic."

"Oh, I see. Another alchemical project?"

I drew circles with a spoon in my bowl of steel-cut oats as I deliberated how much of my current predicament I wanted to convey, "No, one more of… archeology? Anthropology? It's hard to say."

"Archeology!? Have fun with that, you'll never get me on one of those Dwarven digs," he said, shivering at the notion. "And it's twice as bad if it's run by those Night Elf creatures."

I chuckled and ate what I could of my remaining breakfast. This talk with Bazzle had me feeling slightly better. As I bid him good day and retreated towards my room, he leaned back and said, "Whatever you decide, good luck! And keep your vibes positively charged!"

Entering my room, I took up my travelling gear once more and grabbed the runeblade. It was heavy, awkward, and would likely draw attention in Silvermoon City. Looking around, I grabbed an old towel and wrapped it inside, leather sheath and all, then attached it to my quarterstaff. It looked like a bundle of clothes and made me appear to be some sort of wanderer. Likely I'd be below the notice of anyone with enough social grace to overpower their suspicion. With my artifact concealed I removed a rune from my pocket and channeled my magic. Moments later I found myself standing in the Sunfury Spire.

Finding Murder Row was not difficult. Finding the house from my vision however was a different matter entirely. There was little rhyme or reason behind the layout of the homes and shops, just a smattering of every sort of construction as far as the eye could see. I crisscrossed the same avenues multiple times attempting to locate a familiar street. Even in broad daylight this was not the kind of place I would've liked to get lost in. Murder Row got its name from somewhere, or so I was inclined to believe. These were poor elves or criminals, probably both, and neither the sort you want to be hanging around in the attire of a schooled mage.

After over two hours of searching, sneaking about, and quite a lot of careful recollection, I eventually found the house. It was a quaint place with small but meticulously trimmed window boxes and an arrangement of gardening implements outside. Of all the places I'd expect to see a Death Knight this was certainly not one, so I casually walked up and knocked. Some shuffling came from inside, then a man opened the door. He was a little shorter than most Blood Elves but stronger, with dirt staining his calloused hands. He also wasn't undead. At once he asked, "Yes, how can I help you?"

"Hello," I said. "My name is Ignatius. Is this by chance the Rhymewind residence?"

"It is," he replied, straightening his loose fitting linen shirt, "What can I help you with, young one?"

"I'm looking for a Fyodora, I came across something of hers while—"

His long brown eyebrows furrowed when I mentioned her name, "How do you know Fyodora? Who are you?" 

Taken aback, I considered whether or not to use my real last name. Mother's usually got a warmer response from elves, but this man looked like he didn't care about such trivialities as bloodlines.

"Speak up, child!"

"Ignatius Dawnsworn, sir!"

"Dawnsworn?" He folded his arms, "That name rings a bell but I can't quite put the name with a face."

I could practically see the gears turning behind his firm eyes. I half expected him to turn me away, but after a few moments he waved me inside. Shutting the door behind us he said, "Have a seat, I'll go fetch my daughter."

I did just that, taking a seat on a wooden chair by the hearth when I thought, wait, did he say his daughter? I whipped my head around looking for some clue as to why my scrying led me here. The inside of the house wasn't much different from the outside; well maintained but small. Cozy enough for a small family and clean enough, but the pictures hung on the walls were clearly trying to conceal chipped paint and broken plaster. I couldn't sense undeath like my parents, but as I heard the door in the far room open, the strength of the magical aura that approached needed no special holy powers to detect. When the man of the house returned, well, I was fortunate to be sitting.

It was an undead, taller than him but female, and with eyes of pale blue. That wasn't what caught me by surprise though. Every Forsaken I'd seen was in some state of putrefaction but her entire body was intact, as though she were turned right on her deathbed. Her hair had faded to pink and her skin was so pallid that nearly every vein was visible, but her flesh was just as full as my own. Even her clothes were pedestrian; a simple linen dress and sunhat for gardening work. I suspected that with a careful disguise she could walk the streets and hardly be noticed by those unfamiliar with the Light or the arcane, and there were few mages or paladins who would tread in Murder Row.

"This," the man said, motioning to me, "is Ignatius Dawnsworn. Do you know him?"

The undead stared right through me and I found myself trembling. This creature was as strong as the magisters of my tower, perhaps even stronger. To find myself under its withering gaze made me question my reasons for coming. What if she suspected I stole her blade? What if there was bad blood between her and my parents? At long last the undead spoke, "Dawnsworn?" She turned to her father, "I believe that name belonged to the Blood Knight who reunited us."

The man's face screwed up as he tried to recall some distant event, "You know, I can hardly remember much of that night. I think I was too overwhelmed by everything that was happening."

The Death Knight returned her gaze to me, "Tell me, why have you come?"

My brain heaved under the pressure, "I uh, found something… and I think it belongs to you." Slowly I removed my staff from my back and with it the bundled towel. The undead watched intently as I undid the cloth, revealing the leather sheath and hilt.

Without looking away she said, "I wish to speak with Ignatius in private, father."

He looked at me, then back at her, "Yeah, alright. I'll be out back if you need me." Clapping his daughter on the shoulder, he left the room. The Death Knight watched me, motionless, until she heard the door close outside. Her eyes then traced the sheath.

The silence and tension were killing me, I had to say something. "I presume you are Fyodora?"

She nodded. With a cool tone she said, "Years ago I gave that blade as a parting gift to a dear friend and comrade. How did you acquire it?"

"I found it in my house," I replied. "Or what's left of it, we were burgled recently." The Death Knight watched as though waiting for me to continue. For an onlooker it might have appeared rather silly, me being stared down by a Death Knight disguised as a gardener's daughter, her large hat flopping around her face. For me though, everything else seemed to blur from my vision as I was caught by the black holes of her eyes boring through me. "It… was um, in my parents' room."

"And who are your parents?"

I began fiddling with a frayed end of the leather in my lap, "Blood Knight Lysandra Dawnsworn and Sir Abrams of the Order of the Silver Hand."

Upon hearing their names the Death Knight removed her hat. Even at midday her eyes blazed with such fierce intensity that they held me to my seat. I couldn't have run if I wanted. Her expression was emotionless but I found myself curling up inside as she approached, looking me over like a choice cut at a butcher's shop. Towering over me she said, "You are the son of Jack Radical?"

"I… am?" I squeaked.

She placed her hand on my shoulder. In spite of her intimidating presence I was not prepared for the strength of her grip. "Relax, son of Jack. You are among friends!"

I tried to speak but the lump in my throat was choking me, so I nodded.

She took a seat across from me, a practiced smile on her face, "Please tell me, what has my old comrade been doing as of late? It has been years since I have seen him."

This snapped me back to my senses. How would I even begin to explain the series of events that led me here? How much did she know already? What if she was in on the plot, testing me to see how much I've discovered? No, I thought, if she wanted me gone she would have dispatched me at her first suspicion. "Well," I spoke at last, "in a way I was hoping you could tell me."

"What do you mean?" she asked, her eyes flaring again.

I looked a way, pondering one last moment how much to divulge, but I was too far gone. It was all or nothing at this point, any fabrications or misdirections on my part would probably lead to an early, painful grave… or worse, undeath! "I mean… my father is missing. He has been gone over two months now." She stared at me in silence again, so I continued, "He left on Cathedral business, saying he would write mother from Stormwind, but his letter never came. She tried to contact him but there was no response, and every attempt to trace his disappearance has been cut off. Then a few days ago, my sister and I received a letter from her saying our home was burgled and that she was in hiding."

The Death Knight lowered her gaze to the blade, "And how did you come to possess that?"

I snorted with indignation, "Against mother's and my own better judgment, my sister led me to the house to look for clues. She found that the letters containing the names of former friends and contacts were missing, and I found this."

She stared long and hard at the sword in my lap as though deliberating something great. "So then you sought me out, but why? What is it you came here to find?"

Running my fingers through my dark brown locks I shook my head, "Honestly, I don't know. We don't have much to go on and this seemed as promising a trail as any."

Fyodora stood up, her expression sour, "I have no information to give you, though it pains me to think that a paladin as noble as your father has succumbed to such skullduggery."

"How did you know my father anyway? If um… you don't mind me asking."

A faint grin flickered across the Death Knight's mouth, "That is a long tale, young one, and we have little time." She reached out her hand, as though expecting me to hand over the blade.

In a flash of irrationality, I hesitated, "What do you mean 'little time' Little time for what?"

"Years ago I swore that blade to your father's cause," she replied. "I cannot in good conscience stand idly by while he and his posterity are in jeopardy."

Slowly I handed it over. The Death Knight removed the sheath, the silvered blade catching the light as she did. Her eyes narrowed and the extinguished runes along the fuller began to fill with the same sickening undeath I sensed when I arrived. The entire weapon began to glow with unholy power and the Death Knight herself seemed to radiate a chilly breeze.

"It has been too long," she said, gazing at the weapon with disturbing delight. Walking over to an old, dusty trunk set against the wall, she began clearing lamps, books, and various knickknacks from the top.

"Wait, I don't understand. What does this have to do with my father?" I asked, getting up.

She flung open the trunk to reveal a set of armor, then scowled. It was rusted from years of disuse but I could tell it was imprinted with magical runes not unlike her sword. The ebon black steel was tarnished and dented, but with a little work it would be serviceable. Fyodora turned to me, "I am going to help you find Jack."

"Help me?" I said, backing away.

"Yes, I will accompany you on your quest."

A booming voice came from the other room, "You will do no such thing!" Both of us turned as her father entered the room, a trowel still in his gloved mitt. "I already lost you once, Fyodora. I'm not going to let you throw your life away on another harebrained scheme!"

"Father, I owe Jack Radical my life and swore my service to him. I must go."

He slapped her across the cheek, his floppy leather glove making a little *poff* sound as it struck her. "Don't talk back to me! It doesn't do you any good having your life saved if you just turn around and throw it away on another trek out to god knows where! What would Jack say if you wound up dead on his account?!"

At first I thought the Death Knight, standing there with her blade in hand, was going to rain fire and brimstone down upon the entire house. Instead she reached out and embraced her father, "I promise I will be careful, but I must go."

Tears began to well in her father's eyes but he choked back the sobs, "I know." He looked at me, "Besides, it looks like this kid's gonna need all the help he can get."

My expression was torn between confusion and indignation, "I'm sorry, there must be some misunderstanding, I am not on any quest."

"Are you not seeking your father? Is that not why you came here?" Fyodora asked.

I handled my quarterstaff uneasily, "My sister is hunting down leads on her own. She's always been more adept at digging up information than me anyway. I just came here to see what that sword turned up, it's all I had to go on."

The Death Knight turned to face me, "If you do not plan on finding your father, then what do you intend to do?"

I averted my gaze, "What my mother advised me to do to begin with; to return to my tutors at the mage tower and continue my studies."

The Death Knight expression was unreadable, but her father's was one of paternal understanding. "I see," she said. "You are still quite young and this path will certainly be a treacherous one. Return to your tower, I shall do what I can to find your father."

Nodding, I backed away towards the door, "Um, thank you. Both of you."

Fyodora returned her attention to the rusted armor while her father heaved a sigh of resignation. As I stepped outside I felt the guilt pooling inside me. How could I turn my back on this quest, on my father, while at the same time expecting strangers to take up my cause? But, I thought, I was only nineteen and not yet a full mage. The forces at work here were surely beyond my capabilities and father wouldn't want to see me dead, especially for disobeying mother. Besides, hadn't I helped by finding and petitioning this Death Knight in the first place? It was a paltry condolence, but I pulled a rune from my cloak nonetheless. With a deep breath I muttered the incantation and teleported back to Theramore.


	5. Chapter 5

I spent the night at the Wayfarer's Rest, lounging on one of the sofas in the front and making small talk with the other patrons. Although the streets were quieter this late at night, Silvermoon was so large there was always a nightlife of one sort or another, especially where alcohol flowed. I made myself available by sitting close enough to the bar to catch the occasional free drink without sitting so close as to give the impression I was there to be picked up. Social graces among Blood Elves are finicky. Still, I was just wasting time, and there's no better way to do that than with free liquor. The auction house floor would be open in a few hours and I wanted to be first in line with Iggy's little concoction.

It really did pain me to steal from him but I needed *some* sort of revenue to get this quest off the ground. Tongues don't loosen themselves, and then there's the travel costs, and of course the price of poison hasn't been getting any lower. Iggy would just have to make do without his little teenage romance. Pulling out the bottle I smirked, maybe if I had any money left over I'd buy him a hooker. I watched the blue and gold liquids slosh back and forth in their respective vials. He was a clever alchemist, especially for being so young. Mother would be happy to know he's taking his studies in Theramore to heart, even if it was wasted on trivial nonsense like perfume gifts.

Speaking of trivial nonsense, what was he going to do with that sword, I wondered. There was no way it was actually a runeblade, no Death Knight sword would be laying around our home. I almost wished he'd found the perfume instead of taking that sword, it was well made and would have probably fetched just as much at auction, but what's done is done. Likely he'd just take it back to his closet dormitory and study it all night anyway. Looking intently at the vial, my lips twisted up a bit. I couldn't shake the feeling that on the off chance he actually finds this Fyodora character she could be trouble. I had no idea who she could be or if she was even still alive, but the last thing any of us needed right now were skeletons being dragged out of the closet. Also, if Iggy was going to look for leads to find daddy, I'd prefer it to be where I could keep an eye on him. Things might have settled down since the war in Northrend but questing is never safe, especially for young and inexperienced mages. Hah, like Iggy would ever disobey mother to go striking out on his own! I had nothing to worry about.

A woman sitting across from me noticed the perfume in my hands. She was well dressed in a flattering magister's robe, a glass of wine on the small table beside her, and a magical tome in her lap. Her gold bracelets made the firelight dance with their fine polish. Without looking directly at her I continued to turn the bottle in my grip idly. She seemed interested, perhaps enough to buy? I slowly turned to her, looked at the perfume, and said, "Have you ever seen anything like it?"

Startled, the woman's gaze broke away as she tried to pretend like she wasn't staring. Leaning back in her chair she said, "Oh, pardon me."

"It's quite alright, I plan on selling it later today."

"You are?" She sat closer to get a better look. I handed the magister the bottle and she lightly spritzed some on her wrist. "Hmm, that is fetching! Do tell me the brand, miss."

"It's my brother's handiwork," I replied. "He gave it to me as a gift but I… don't really have use for such things."

"I see," she replied, looking back at me, "how much were you looking to get for it?"

I trailed off, watching my fingers idly tally some imaginary calculation of value. "How does three gold sound?"

The woman broke into a coy chuckle, her thick red hair sagging over her shoulder, "Three? Try one, dearheart."

My expression scrunched up a bit, "Please, I know it's worth more than that, the enchantment alone costs fifty silvers."

"It's the fall season, sweetie, and this is a springtime scent. Summer too perhaps, but right now, if it isn't pumpkin spice it just won't do!"

Damn it, I'd forgotten all about the seasonal fashions of Silvermoon. Leave it to my brother to make a perfume that was out of style by the time it was done.

"I'll tell you what, one gold and ten silver, my final offer," the woman said.

"No thanks," I replied, taking the bottle back. "The sentimental value is worth more than that."

"Suit yourself," she replied.

The woman got up and moved towards the bar, leaving me more or less alone holding the significantly devalued perfume. I could still try my hand at the auction house, perhaps someone gullible or a speculator might pick it up for a decent price. I let out a sigh, probably not. I could try another city, but where? Thunder Bluff? Orgrimmar? Ratchet? The goblins would be the only ones vain enough to spend any serious gold on such a thing, and getting to their remote city would take days. No, I thought, I can either take what I can get or just… give it back. Maybe Iggy would be willing to swap it for that sword, at least that I know will sell. Fine weaponry is never out of season. Figuring that was my best bet for some starting gold, I settled on swapping with my little brother the next day and headed upstairs for some shut-eye.

* * *

As I walked the lower level of the mage tower towards my room the weight of the day's events took root in my mind. Not only had I found this Fyodora character but now the Death Knight was enlisted in the search for father. As for Jacqueline, she was probably off following some conjured up trail of her own. No doubt the situation was in far more capable hands with the Death Knight. Still, there was tension in my shoulders as I reached for the door ring. It felt like I was standing over a tall cliff in the dark. I know mother wants me to study, I thought, hesitating to go inside. I know she wants me to stay safe. But how can I with so much at stake? My life was devolving into a hurricane around me and I was tasked with ignoring it and carrying on as though things would just sort themselves out.

Pulling the ring I opened my dormitory, ignoring the other students chatting in the common area much like they ignored me. This was for the best, it had to be. Fyodora was right, it is a dangerous quest and I would merely get in the way. As I stepped inside and closed the door I threw my travelling gear on the bed with a sigh. The window was open.

"What is it now, Jacqueline?" I asked.

A shape emerged from a shadowy corner of the room. My sister, decked in her usual leather armor, stepped out and took a seat on the bed. "You certainly took your sweet time coming back from class."

"I was not in class, and how did you get here so fast?"

"You're not the only one with friends who are mages, Iggy," she replied with a smirk. "Anyway, I wanted to ask you about that sword you took."

I crossed my arms, trying to appear stern in spite of my despondent mood, "If you have come to steal that from me too then you are too late. I already tracked down Fyodora."

"Oh did you?" she purred.

"Yes, father now has a Death Knight looking for him." I had not taken the time before saying it to think through how it would sound and the look on Jacqueline's face could have stopped a kodo.

Regaining her composure, she said, "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Sorry, allow me to reiterate. I found Fyodora. She is a Death Knight, just as I predicted, and an old comrade of father. At my request she has agreed to help search for him."

Jacqueline laughed heartily, slapping me on the shoulder with her leather gloved hand. "Iggy, you've always been a terrible liar."

"It is Ignatius and I am telling the truth!" Forcing her hand away I said, "I'd think you would be a bit more grateful, this is a considerable ally for our quest."

"Our quest?" she said incredulously. "You're going to just sit around this mage tower while I do all the legwork. Don't pretend you're involved in this." I began to protest but before I could say a word she held up her hand, pulling a bottle out from her hip pouch. "Look what I found."

"I…see." I stared at the perfume, then back at her, my expression blank. She would not be showing me this if she did not expect something in return.

"I don't know where you're hiding that sword but I'm willing to trade you."

Shaking my head I growled, "I already told you, I brought it to its owner."

"Such a pity. I guess I'll have to hang onto this then."

With furrowed brows I replied, "I suppose you will. A fine thing it is, coming here just to taunt me. Is it not enough that you stole that from me to begin with and then lied about returning my creation?"

"I didn't lie, I just misplaced it is all," she replied.

"Then give it back. I went on your damnable errand and you found what you were looking for. My part in this charade is over."

She looked at the perfume with a puzzled expression, then turned back to me. "Yes, I suppose you're right." Jacqueline handed me the bottle, "Here you go."

Taking it, I pulled away, unsure of what to expect. This was unusual behavior for her; to just give something up so easily. "What's the catch?"

"No catch, Iggy." She appeared a bit deflated, "I was going to use it to goad you into helping me some more but on second thought I don't think that'd be a good idea."

This was fantastic news on my part but before I could stop myself I reflexively shot out, "And why's that?"

A crooked smile fixed itself on her lips, "I keep forgetting you're just a kid. I watched you in Silvermoon and… I mean look at you. Father's in danger and you're hung up on a stupid crush."

"I cannot be expected to disobey mother and all common sense to strike out on my own looking for him. This and my education are all I have to occupy myself."

Jacqueline nodded in solemn agreement, "That's what I'm saying. I don't know if you're too young or just too timid but I can't bring you into this."

I grunted in disgust, "And it never crossed your mind that perhaps I'm just too intelligent? I know better than to go traipsing around, getting myself into situations I cannot handle."

"Fine then," she replied, "you're too smart. At least you know your limits."

I straightened up a bit. The compliment was barbed and there was poison in her words, but her tone was a sweet and affectionate as one would expect an older sister's would be. One who'd never met Jacqueline at any rate. After a moment of speculation I concluded that she genuinely wanted me out of harm's way but something still stuck in my craw.

"Anyway," Jacqueline said, walking towards the window, "I'll leave you to your little girlfriend. If mother writes again make sure to tell her I'm doing what I can from my end."

"She is not going to like that, "I replied.

"Oh I know, but that's the point!" Her eyes narrowed with delight as she slid over the windowsill and into the sea breeze without a sound.

I shut glass behind her, not catching so much as a glimpse of her escape. Looking back at the room I felt a little uneasy but for the moment it seemed everything was going well. Father had people looking for him, I got my present back, and my sister found something to preoccupy her time other than tormenting me. I let out a deep breath and tried to relax, feeling the stress fall from my shoulders. Things were looking up, I could handle this. All I needed to do was sit tight and… I glimpsed the bottle in my hands. Eris' birthday!

With everything that was going on I had not yet completed the preparations! Certainly the gift was done, but the letter was still unfinished, and the timing was all wrong, and the presentation! What was I going to say? How could I just drop in on her and give her a present without so much as an introduction? It was already past noon and I had little time to spare. She would likely have plans later in the day and lessons were already over. Maybe I could still catch her if I was quick. Taking the present without so much as a note I marched outside my room and towards the stairs.

Eris was an enchanter so I knew I would find her in the second floor library that afternoon doing homework after class. Tidying my hair I entered the library and scanned the rows of books. Enchanting and alchemy students poured over texts, ancient and new alike, scribbling in notebooks and muttering to one another in hushed tones under the watchful eye of the librarian mage. Then I saw her, sitting with a friend by the back wall. I started towards them and my nerves gave out like brittle toothpicks.

She was beautiful, pure blue eyes and platinum blonde hair with a graceful, elegant figure like the porcelain sculptures of Silvermoon. And she was brilliant, the sharpest enchanter in her class and just as talented at arcana. I'd dare say she was even better than myself, although I hoped my alchemical prowess would still impress her. In the silent atmosphere of the library the only thing I could hear was the mechanical pounding of my own heart thumping in my chest. The blood rushed to my face and I could feel my hands begin to tremble as I neared their table. Oh, if only Bazzle were here. That gnome could smooth-talk his way out of regicide, certainly he could help me with this.

As I approached, Eris looked up from her companion and caught my gaze. Her eyes excluded a sense of fierce intelligence and I found myself unable to speak, my hand fiddling with the perfume uneasily in the sleeve of my robe. After a moment she said, "Yes?"

"I wanted… to um, wish you a happy birthday, Eris," I said, handing her the present.

"Thank you," she said, taking the gift absently, "but I'm afraid we haven't met."

"M-my name is Ignatius D-dawnsworn," I stammered. My tongue felt like it was made of cement. "We're in uh, arcane… uh, classes together."

She stared at me intently, then her eyes widened, "Wait a minute, I know you!"

An awkward grin forced itself across my face, until-

"You're that little geek who set his cloak on fire last semester!"

My heart skipped a beat and icy claws raked down my back. Eris' friend clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from bursting into laughter, leaning over the table and heaving with delight. I stood there like an oaf for a few seconds more. Every fiber in my body was screaming at me to run but I couldn't. Eris looked to her companion and she tried to speak.

"I remember that!" the girl said.

Eris turned back to me, "Since when do they allow Blood Elves in Theramore? Shouldn't you be back in Silvermoon? Or maybe Undercity? There's very little difference between them these days so I hear."

I tried to say something but there were no words. Every synapse in my brain was firing, shorting out, leaving me with nothing but a clenched jaw and an unmovable lump in my throat.

Her friend grinned wide, "Please, a mule like him probably got kicked out of Silvermoon long ago."

Eris' face scrunched up, "Ew, that's right, you're a half-breed aren't you?" She shoved the perfume back in my hand, "Get out of here, mule."

Like a robot I took my gift and departed, head hanging low, not saying a word. My face felt like a stone mask, my limbs like timber. As usual no one noticed me coming or going so I kept this fragile composure until safely inside my dormitory. As the door latch clinked behind me both eyes slammed shut. Tears poured down my cheeks and I leaned against the door for support, slowly sliding down the wooden planks until I found myself sitting on the cold stone floor. I buried my face in my robes, hugging my knees to muffle the sobs. It wasn't just the rejection, I'd steeled myself for such an outcome long ago. It was something else, something sharper.

Pulling my head up I looked around the room with blurry vision. This tiny dorm they shoved me in was no comfort anymore. I hated being stuck in a closet, I hated being a half-breed. Most of all I hated my father for this damnable curse. This… _inferiority_ that plagued me was the taint of his blood. For a moment I took solace in the fact that he was gone. Maybe I would never see him again. A long, slow breath rasped through my quivering throat. No, his disappearance did not solve my problem. I would continue to be antagonized even with him gone. For all I knew, father left the family to go on some escapade with whatever prostitute he managed to find while on business. The trail might simply conclude at the Lion's Pride Inn.

My eyebrows tucked together in despair. Never before in my life had I felt so alone or so small. The sunlight warmed my face but I still felt cold. My teeth clicked anxiously as I turned the bottle in my fingers, deep in thought. Somehow I had to improve my situation but all means to that end eluded me. Here, as in Silvermoon, I was just a half-breed, a…mule. Everyone saw me as an inferior good, a reject sent away from whatever unfortunate family bore me. I knew it wasn't true. Mother cared for me deeply and father too, though he had a strange way of showing it. A twinge of guilt struck me for my callous, selfish thoughts, but it was soon overpowered. Neither of my parents were here to help me, neither of them could, and the only family I had left made it her pastime to torture me. I couldn't stay in Theramore either; the other students would know about this little incident before too long. But I couldn't return home either. I was helpless.

The shock and pain was now boiled down to anger as I felt my hands ball into fists. Clenching the perfume I threw it against the wall. Magical liquid splattered across the grey stones, filling the air with the intoxicating scent. I stared through the cloud of green mist, lost in my arrogance. No, I thought. I am not helpless. Jacqueline has no home and she thrives on adventure. If she can make a life out of such circumstances then so can I. Even better, I will beat her at her own game. I will set out on the trail to find father, I will track him down, and I will prove that I am just as cunning and resourceful as she is. I will deny her every right to mock me again, and the right of any others to look down on me for my blood.

It was a bold move but I had a trick up my sleeve. Fyodora, the Death Knight, was probably still preparing to leave. If I hurried, I might be able to join her still. Together we could retrace father's steps and find him before Jacqueline even realizes I'm gone. Grabbing my cloak and staff I reached in my pocket, producing my last teleportation rune. With a scowl I hesitated; I was out of money so this was a one-way trip. Steeling myself once more, I muttered the incantation and concentrated, then in a flash disappeared.


End file.
